


We who remain of the Pantheons

by j_knight13



Series: I take a bow and I fall off the stage [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - Fandom, James Bond Skyfall, Mythology, Skyfall 2012
Genre: Angst, BAMF Miss Moneypenny, Chaos, Character Death, Don't do it, Eve is a BAMF, He just wants to pat his cats, Help, Holy schist those are actual tags, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I don't know what tags to put, I really am, I should start using actual tags, I'm Sorry, K I'll just go before someone hits me, Other, Poor Q, Silva no, Someone take my keyboard away from me, The characters are actually Gods, They all die, What Have I Done, bye, except one, how do I tag this piece of thing, i cried, much angst, no that doesn't count as a tag does it, okay, sad shit, the Gods are dying, what happens when Chess is bored
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 05:56:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15285159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_knight13/pseuds/j_knight13
Summary: They have survived millennia, not through memory of them but for what they stood for. But everything must fade, even them.





	We who remain of the Pantheons

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo... I fucked up. This is angsty and sad and yeah, just warning you. Please don't come after me.

Whilst many of the other Gods fade, Minerva stays. There will always be a great strategist, a great man (but so rarely a good one), a great fighter and leader. There will always be someone who worships her domains, and so she becomes one of those people- a great fighter, great leader, but not necessarily a good one. Her real name is forgotten, but war and wisdom are not, and neither is her new name, a single letter, a letter that controls other Gods and Men and worlds. And so she stays, and she waits, for the day she will be let go, the day she will not be forced to watch humanity wage war on itself. For the day she can join her brothers and sisters, wherever they may be. She is tired. And she waits for that day.

Apollo stays because the sun stays. He has been there millennia, and he will stay millennia. But it is not just the Sun that ties him down. Apollo is healing and plague, is poetry and man. As the great plagues vanish, a new kind appears- one in code, one that can cripple nations with a single line. The code sings a new song, a new poem of the ages. Like Minerva, his name is forgotten. Like Minerva, he trades Apollo in for a letter, one letter that can control countries, and he thrives in these new domains. He works with Minerva, and with so many others. But also like Minerva, he is tired. His sister is long gone, for no one has use for the moon and the hunt anymore. A half of a whole, Apollo waits for the day the sun fades. Because he is tired too, exhausted, and yet people do not let go, even though none say his name now.

Honos stays, but not because people recognise his domains. He stays because not enough do, not enough people recognise chivalry and honour and justice. He finds a place serving that, and laughs at the irony because look who he works under now- Wisdom herself. Until Wisdom decides she wishes to take a new form, lets M die at the hands of Chaos, and he is left her place, her legacy, and her letter.  
Unlike his siblings and people, he is not recognised at all any more, not in any way. And so he stays, to make sure the world does not crumble in lacking his dominions. 

Freyja stays, because there will always be love and there will always be war, always death. She has no choice, and so, unlike her brothers and sisters, she revels in her new name, a name she picks for its symbolic meaning- the first woman, the first to fall from paradise (not the paradise of her people, no, but the paradise best known). She takes life and gives life and trades in her spear and dress for a gun and Kevlar. Freyja takes on an appearance as unlike her Old form as possible, and begins anew. She does not wish to fade, but she grows bored with centuries of war and love and death. And so she does come to want to move on, to start anew properly- not a new face and name, but a new purpose also.  
She waits.

Seth stays because chaos is a fact of life. So is disorder, and violence, and difference. Like Honos and Apollo and Freyja, he finds a place under Wisdom, until he grows bored of that, and goes his own way. Like Freyja he accepts and embraces his domains, but unlike her he never grows tired of it. He grows tired of other things- of the same world, the same people and the same deities around him. He grows tired of the remainders of the Pantheons trying to kill him- because chaos exists to be destroyed, and to rise from the ashes again. 

Kresnik stays also. None know his name, Kresnik of the golden hands, of the mountain, yet everyone knows what he stands for. For the flame, the storm, the wrath of nature. For the summer solstice and its significance, and for fertility, for new life and love.  
His true name is lost, and he creates a new one- one that belongs to someone just as lost. He finds a companion in War, but the War whose name is still spoken. His people fade, his pantheon gone, and Kresnik is left, until he isn't. He wants to fade, to find freedom from being known by none yet all, from being a fact of life that is as lost as he.  
He waits, and watches, as Old and the New pass. And he waits for his time to come.

Mars is war. Mars is peace by military strategy. Mars is worthy opponents and great battles and greater armies. Mars never leaves. He is not as old or as unyielding as Death. He is young compared to many, but older to yet still more. He is life and death, because war creates life, but it also destroys it. He finds a place under Wisdom, like so many others, but like Chaos he stays as unchanging and unpredictable as ever. Like Freyja, he knows who he is, and uses that. But War is War, and War does not change. Battles are fought in every form, and Mars is at the centre of it. True to his nature, he causes many. But Mars is vital, cannot fade, because without Mars, without War, peace is not known for peace and the light is taken for granted.  
Mars is not forgotten. His name and what he stands for is always remembered. But even War grows weary. And Mars does not represent wars between all- he stands for conflict between his people and mortals. Mars grows tired, because War does not stop. And if that weight were to move on to another, Mars would pass it gladly.

When the call comes it has been millennia. A millennia of great cultures and civilisations and Pantheons, crumbles. Wisdom is lost, because there is none left to be wise. The Sun is lost, when it is dashed from the sky. Honour has always been lost but for a few. Love dies with Death, because there are none left to die. Chaos reigns strong, but chaos is the unpredictable, and soon chaos is order and order is chaos. The world burns and storms rage, but they are not the storms that Earth knew, so much more vengeful and so very different. War cannot be fought when there are no soldiers to bear arms, and peace cannot be made by military strategy when a military is a thing of the past, however recent that past was. 

 

They meet on a field of fire, surrounded by a forest of storms- and it is literal, because the grass is tongues of flame and the canopy is stormclouds, blooming sparks of pure electricity. Kresnik is there first, appearing with a crash of thunder in a bolt of lightening, but there are none to see him come. He stands near the top of the clearing, finally at home among the savage environment, golden hand resting on a silver sword, stands as still as a statue, and gazes to the forest’s east, watching for the last of the Pantheons.

Soon Honour comes.  
Honos appears in a soft blink of gold, garbed in royal blue and golden armour with his lance in hand, famed cornucopia neatly secured at his waist. The God of Honour looks around at the field, calculating eyes taking in his surroundings, and nods once to Kresnik. The two exchange traditional greetings before he takes his place beside him in their silent vigil, standing to Kresnik’s left. 

After Honour comes Chaos. Seth appears in a flash of darkness, somehow blinding, dressed in the armour of Pharaohs, his infamous Set Beast at his side. He gives them a lazy, dangerous grin as he swaggers over, constantly changing between the many faces of Disorder as he stands several paces from Honos, and the Set Beast settles at his feet, changing like its master between animals of legend.

Freyja appears next in a curl of green light- her sacred Aurora. When it clears she stands tall, a slight smile curling her lips. Her two grey cats are at each side, and her cloak of falcon feathers hangs from her shoulders, an elegant hand resting on the hilt of her sword. She nods to them once, her smile never leaving her face before she takes her spot.  
“Apollo is next,” she tells them cheerfully, and the four shield their eyes, because the embodiment of the sun shines brightly.

When the brilliant golden-white light fades, Apollo greets them with a slight smile. He, like Seth, changes forms too, between the golden true form of the Sun God and his favoured mortal appearance. His lyre and bow are at his back, eyes bright and small grin infectious as he calls out. When he stands next to Freyja, scanning his surroundings, the Goddess of Love and War takes his hand, and squeezes, and he returns the gesture.

Minerva appears with a flash of cold grey, eyes cool and back straight. She surveys the Gods before her, all of which harbour some dislike to Wisdom.  
“Are you going to kill me?” She asks calmly, immediately, and whilst Chaos seems to consider it, Freyja shakes her head.  
“No,” she says, and her companions gradually give their assent. M gives them each a considering look, then nods once and takes her place between Chaos and Honour.  
“Then we hope Mars feels the same way,” she murmurs, and Chaos laughs.  
“Oh, you need not worry about the Roman!” He says cheerfully, ignoring her pointed look, because Minerva may stem from the Greeks, like Mars, but she is very much a Roman deity. “Wisdom and War and battle strategy- all the same thing, no?”  
“There is a large difference,” she tells him coolly, but with a hint of fondness in her eyes, visible only to those who know the Wise well. Seth shrugs.  
“If there is, I see it not,” he says, then his grin widens and he laughs again as red fog creeps up from the trees. “Here he comes!” 

The red mist tendrils creep to the centre of the clearing, drifting purposefully over flaming grass, and start to coil together in the centre. One brushes past Kresnik and the Slavic steps to one side calmly, watching the fog twist once near his feet before gliding on. Apollo scoffs from his place as Minerva murmurs something about dramatic entrances, and Freyja watches fondly.  
Slowly the mist takes form, human form. A solid figure, slowly filling in. Eyes colder than chips of ice, bluer than the sky before the End, tanned skin and short, blonde hair. Silver armour, but swirls of red seemingly fade in and out of existence below the cold metal surface. A sword at each side, one cavalry and one broadsword, a selection of daggers. Mars takes his favourite form, and looks over his fellow Gods with emotionless eyes. When he reaches Kresnik, a slight smile breaks on the face of both of the men, and Mars steps forward.  
“Janus no longer, then?” He says, eyes finally sparking with life- amusement. Kresnik shrugs and smirks.  
“Your little doorway God was getting quiet irritating. He passed by my mountain often, telling me that his name was not for free use.” Freyja scoffs and pats one of her cats, Apollo letting the other feline climb his shoulders.  
“Going on the fact that every day before he faded he came past grumbling angrily, he rather failed then.”  
“You know me, Freyja, I do not give in easily.” Seth snorts loudly.  
“I would say,” he remarks loudly to Honos, who allows a slight smirk.  
Minerva steps forward then, cold voice cutting through the banter.  
“Yes, yes, but I do believe we're on a schedule here.” Her face is stony, but her eyes fond, and Mars mock salutes her cheerfully.  
“Mars, reporting for duty, ma’am.”  
“Oh, knock it off. The Romans held you higher than me and you know it.” Kresnik crows in delight, clapping Apollo on the back and nearly knocking the laughing Sun God over.  
“She finally admits it!” The tense atmosphere fades slightly as the group laughs.

Honos is the first to fade. Halfway through a conversation with Minerva, he stops in his sentence and glances down. A light shines from within his body, and the others fall quiet.  
“It is time then,” Apollo murmurs, and glances back at the sky where the moon should hang but doesn't.  
“It would seem so,” Honour whispers to himself, and as the light pierces his skin he smiles sadly at his companions.  
“It has been a true honour. Perhaps we shall meet again,” he says, but they know it isn't true, that wherever they end up, they're in the wrong Pantheons anyway. Honos might see Apollo again, Minerva will have Mars to bother her, and maybe the Greeks and the Romans would meet again. But never will they all be reunited.  
Freyja smiles sadly at Honos as his hands start to fade.  
“An Honour, sir,” she repeats, and kisses his cheek. He nods to her as Minerva steps to his side, and her fierce gaze is almost gentle.  
“Thank you,” she tells him, and he smiles.  
“My pleasure, M,” he says. Mars and Kresnik silently salute him, and Mars grimaces.  
“I would say I'm sorry for the headaches I caused you, but I'd be lying.” Honos laughs harshly, and grins at him.  
“I know. Believe me, I know.” Minerva rolls her eyes fondly, as Apollo nods solemnly and Seth bows slightly.  
“May the stars light your path,” is the last whisper they hear on the wind before Honour is no more.

Seth breaks the silence with a hum.  
“Interesting,” he remarks, and they turn to find him inspecting his own fast-fading hands. “I had always though, perhaps Chaos would last. Maybe even outlast Death. But it seems not.” He looks up and shrugs with a grin, trying to pat the Set Animal, frowning when the animal whines because he can't.  
“Ah well. On to next big adventure, then. Perhaps Mars shall even kill me again!” And Mars laughs quietly.  
“Perhaps,” he agrees, and Apollo groans.  
“No,” he tells them sternly, “we do not need a repeat of that.” Freyja voices her agreement as Kresnik shrugs.  
“If there is a next time, I would like to be included in the fun,” he tells Seth, a tiny grin on his face as he avoids Apollo’s hand as it flies at his head, and Chaos snorts.  
“Yes, my manners were somewhat lacking, were they not? Do not worry, next time you may play also.”  
Seth mets Minerva’s gaze last. The woman inclines her head, and he does the same.  
“Next time, I will not kill you, yes?”  
“There won't be a reason for you to do so, next time,” she says, and Seth smiles as his body begins to vanish fully.  
“There will not be a next time, will there?” His voice is cheerful despite the words, accompanied by the whine of his beast as his master vanishes. Freyja takes pity on the creature, and pats it gently as it finally begins to crumble, not into light but dust. 

When Apollo starts to fade, it takes him some time to realise. The embodiment of the sun shines brightly, after all, and a strange light coming from him is not new. He only realises when he absently reaches to scratch the head of one of Freyja’s cats and can't.  
“Oh, bother,” he mumbles, and looks apologetically at the cat. “Sorry, little man.” The second she realises, Freyja launches herself at him, neither commenting when Apollo stops changing between his traditional form and instead settles on the appearance of Q.  
“Take care,” Freyja mumbles into his shoulder, “and say hello to Artemis for me.” Apollo pats her back, as well as he can, and she eventually pulls back. She wipes a single tear and the group watches as it turns to gold on her finger, before gently falling to the ground and vanishing into the flaming grass.  
“Go safely,” Kresnik says, next to approach him. “And give the Moon my love.” Apollo snorts a laugh.  
“She'll appreciate that. Try not to set too many things on fire, then?” Kresnik flashes a wicked grin, one that he hasn't worn for many a year.  
“No promises, Sunshine.” Apollo looks resigned, but amused, and sighs.  
“I suppose I shouldn't expect anything less.”  
Minerva nods once to her Quartermaster, fellow member of the First Pantheons, God of the Sun.  
“Do try to get through in one piece,” she tells him. “Most unfortunate if my Quartermaster were to be injured, especially on the way to see his sister again.”  
“Quartermaster. Haven't heard that one in a while.” The two exchange a look, and Minerva exhales.  
“I promise.”  
“As do I.” Wisdom steps back and lets War take her place.  
“What was that?” Mars asks Apollo, looking slightly amused as he jerks a thumb at Minerva, receiving a look from both.  
“None of your business, 007.” Mars grins at the name, gives him a mischievous look.  
“I'll find out, you know. I've got an eternity to bother her.”  
“And I'm sure you'll spend your time effectively.” Raised eyebrows, before Apollo looks down at himself, or lack of.  
“Well. Your Quartermaster, checking out. Do take care. 007, 006... Please try and remain in one piece. M, a pleasure. And Miss Moneypenny. I never got to thank you for the tea.” He inclines his head to the Goddess, whose cheeks are streaked with tears, the tears streaked with gold. “Thank you.”  
“You're welcome,” Freyja, Eve, whispers to the wind, Freyja’s cats twining around her, searching for their other human- or not human, as it were. Mars bows his head.  
“My regards to Artemis,” he mumbles belatedly, the red in his armour turning darker than before. 

Kresnik sighs when he fades, golden hands slowly turning to air and light.  
“At long last,” he remarks mournfully. “I have spent a long time wishing to go, and now...” He shrugs. Freyja manages a weak smile.  
“And now you're not so sure,” she finishes for him, and the Slavic god nods.  
“Exactly.” He takes a deep breathe, then fixes his beaming smile back on.  
“Well! Minerva, dear Wisdom, take care, of yourself and our Mars, da?” Minerva nods once, and Kresnik laughs as Mars mumbles about not being a Godling, damnit.  
“And dear Freyja!” He gives her a hug, ruffles the feathers on the collar of her cloak. “Take care of yourself, yes?” He receives a watery smile.  
“You know it.” He snorts as he lets her go.  
“Yes, I do.” Mars approaches his best friend, holds out his hand to shake, but Kresnik hugs him.  
“No hands,” he reminds his partner in crime cheerfully, and holds his arms to inspect. “An odd feeling, da. A bit like flashing, perhaps. A little like when we change shape.” Mars shakes his head.  
“Only you.” He receives a wicked grin.  
“Only me. After all, I am Kresnik of golden hands, last of the Slavic Pantheon!” His words echo around the clearing, as his arms and legs vanish, yet he stands tall and proud. “Last of my people. And you, last of yours. Take care, Wisdom and War and Love!”  
Mars allows Freyja to lean on his shoulder, and bows his head.  
“Only you,” he whispers. Minerva closes her eyes as the flaming grass burns a little less brightly and the storms in the trees grow more violent.

“He wasn't wrong.” Freyja and Mars turn to Minerva, who calmly looks over her fingers. “The feeling. A bit like flashing, a bit like changing shape. Not altogether unpleasant, but not recommendable.” Freyja closes her eyes.  
“Not like we have a choice, really.”  
“Indeed.” Minerva surveys them steadily, and allows the barest hint of emotion to flash across her face. Fondness, nostalgia, and maybe even the tiniest bit of excitement. No fear, because even when faced with the unknown, Wisdom knows, Mars decides. Not the path taken, but the end result, perhaps. Something.  
“Freyja.” M nods to the Lady of Love. “I never got to say. Wonderful shot.” She gets a watery laugh and Mars huffs as Wisdom turns her head.  
“007.”  
“Yes ma’am.”  
“Report for duty within the next two centuries, then.” He cracks a grin.  
“Might take a bit longer than that.”  
“Bullshit.” M gives him a look that says she knows exactly how long it will take, and exactly how long he'll purposefully dally if possible. He smirks, shrugs. She’s shaking her head as she turns to light.

Mars knows he's next. All that remains is War and Love, Love and War. Freyja is Death as well as Love, and Death will last the longest. He isn't afraid, really.  
Kresnik was right. The familiar sensation of flash teleportation fills his body, plus the slight tingle that goes with changing shape. He inspects his hands, running his fingers over the rough skin, the familiar scars and lines, and watches as the skin lights from the inside and the tips of his fingers fade.  
“It seems my time is up,” he remarks, and Freyja clings to him.  
“I'll miss you,” she whispers, tears flowing freely, and he gently kisses the top of her head.  
“Now then, my dear Miss Moneypenny,” he tells her with a smile. “None of that. I'm sure you want to see your Pantheon again, yes?” Freyja has a look in her eyes, that she knows something he doesn't, a sad look, but she nods.  
“They are my family. But- so are you, so were they.” He bows his head as the light spreads.  
“And you mine.” One of the cats wails mournfully, sensing her mistress’s emotions, and the other lies with his head on his paws. Mars smiles at them, as Freyja’s arms slip through his shoulders.  
“Good luck, Mars,” she sniffs, and bows formally. He returns the gesture and winks at her as icy blue is consumed by nothing yet something.  
“Don't cry, love. It'll work out.” 

Freyja stands last. Her cats sing a mournful song, as she tugs her cloak about her shoulders, for she may stand on grass of fire but a chill wind blows from the West. Her famed necklace, the piece to charm both men and Gods, hangs around her neck, but she has no use for it now. Her sword is secured at her waist, and she runs a finger around the intricate hilt thoughtfully. She can not fade, not yet. She now knows, for there are so many other deities of Death that still live, ones not of Pantheons but of greater beliefs. A Horseman, a Void, a Queen- so many still stand, and Death may not be her greatest domain, but it is one she is renowned for. Death cannot die, and so Death stands. She smiles bitterly, turning her face to the dim light of a new, broken sun, one with a harsh green light that is not unlike her Auroras, and as her chariot begins to materialise around her a sense of nostalgia fills her heart. Golden tears blend with golden armour that forms from air around her, and as her cats end their song and take their places in front of her soft leather harnesses appear. She draws her sword and eyes the blade thoughtfully. She is Death, but she is War also. Death in its pure forms cannot fight an embodiment of War, no matter how minor, and it may take centuries, but she will wear them all down. And she smiles slightly, because the hunt is on. Once all who represent Death are dead, perhaps she may fade and find her own peace. And perhaps she may see her family again, both the old, and the new. Freyja is not to be trifled with. Eve, even less.

**Author's Note:**

> Who's Who (It's kinda obvious, but...)
> 
> James Bond- Mars. Roman, war, peace secured through military strategy.  
> M- Minerva. Roman, wisdom, warfare and battle strategy.  
> Q- Apollo. Greek, healing and plague, poetry, music, light, bachelors.  
> Gareth Mallory- Honos. Greek, chivalry, honour, military justice.  
> Eve Moneypenny- Freyja. Norse, love and war, death and fertility.  
> Raoul Silva- Seth. Egyptian, storms, disorder, violence, foreigners.  
> Alec Trevelyan- Kresnik. Slavic, fire, summer solstice, storms, thunder, fertility.
> 
>  
> 
> ...I'll see myself out now...


End file.
